


i'll follow you into the dark

by alcitrant



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Depressing, Depression, Im sorry all i write is sad things, M/M, Sad, malum, michaels had enough, not dirty though, they're in the shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcitrant/pseuds/alcitrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now Michael’s here and he’s rethinking his decision, because he’s actually having the farthest thing from fun. He’s walking around a festival, with spinning rides and cotton candy and coloured booths set up, loud and fragrant, and it should feel good - magical even. But he doesn’t feel excited. He feels like he’s sinking.</p><p> </p><p>i worked on this for a while, please realize that this is extremely unedited</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll follow you into the dark

It’s 10:49 on a Friday and Michael’s hair is sticking to his neck. His shirt is clinging to his spine, and there’s too many lights around him and his wrists are burning.

 

When Ashton called him up an hour ago wanting to head to the new carnival a few towns over, Michael figured it would be best if he went, considering staying home on a Friday night wasn’t that far from being lame. Prior to the older boy calling him, Michael was walking through the town square, feeling like he was suffocating but he blamed it on the weather. The amount of humidity in the air was enough for his lungs to think they were drowning in water, and that, he decided, felt a lot like loneliness.

 

So he goes, because he’d rather be around drunk people and shitty cover bands and fucking  _kids_  instead of sitting in his room, on his phone. He’s kinda sick of scrolling through tweets from people he doesn’t actually give a shit about.

 

But now Michael’s here and he’s rethinking his decision, because he’s actually having the farthest thing from fun. He’s walking around a festival, with spinning rides and cotton candy and coloured booths set up, loud and fragrant, and it should feel good - magical even. But he doesn’t feel excited. He feels like he’s sinking.

 

It was all bearably fine until Ashton saw people from his old therapy group that he hadn’t seen in ages or some shit _,_ and Michael really didn’t mind the older boy hanging out with them. He refuses to let himself believe that he did. He saw the way Ashton’s eyes lit up when he saw his old friends, the lights from the Ferris wheel across the way gleaming through his eyelashes – and on his face was one of the brightest smiles Michael had ever seen the older boy’s lips curve into.

 

Michael remembers seeing his best friend looking so happy, a kind of happy Michael was almost  _jealous_  of or something ridiculous. He saw him bring all of his friends into a close-knit group hug, large hands cupping their shoulders and eyes filling with  _tears_ at one point. Memories being exchanged and bubbling laughs, and Michael remembers giving one of the older boy’s friends a five dollar bill at one point because they needed it and he just wanted to be nice.

 

Eventually the younger boy had been introduced to all of them. Each like Ashton, smiley and kind. He noticed they all seemed to understand the obvious and know not to say anything about it, like how one girl was so scarilythin that Michael could probably wrap his hands around her waist completely. Or how one girl had two drinks in her hand and started making out with a random guy that passed by her, red lines covering the inside of her arms. He stood outside the group, saw them making silly faces and wrapping their arms around each other. Like they belonged there together. Michael knew he’d never felt more alone than he did at that moment.

 

  

It’s about the third person that he sees walking past him, that he knows, when he thinks he’s starting to lose it. Michael’s awkwardly trailing behind the laughing group of outcasts he knew his best friend was a part of, and he’s smiling when they glance at him, acting like he doesn’t care where he was being dragged along to. Michael knows what it’s like to be an outcast for god’s sakes, but when you’re the outcast in a group of outcasts, where else are you supposed to go? 

                                                                                            

It was when they were walking the drunk friend back to her car when things got bad for Michael. It was now 11:36, they were on an empty road and Ashton kept giggling with a guy he was linking arms with and Michael needs help. He doesn’t understand because he’s  _old_ enough for this.

 

He’s walking past people smoking weed and laughing. Chicks in bikini tops being pulled into the backseats of cars, lips attached to their necks and hands from both sides running all over. Cell phones snapping pictures and guys being douches and girls being submissive. Beer cans, lawn chairs,  _so_ many lights.

 

Michael is going frantic looking around and seeing all of this. He doesn’t know what he feels, but the silvery scars on his arm are gleaming like his best friend’s eyes are, and a really thin girl is walking next to him and Ashton’s dragging along some drunk fool with kiss-bitten lips, while they’re spewing out laughs and tripping over their feet and Michael can’t see the stars behind all of the fog in the air and all of this is  _too much._

What Michael doesn’t get is the unsteadiness of what he really wants. He’s dreamed of things like this for so long; wild nights when he doesn’t know if he’ll make it home in time to climb into bed without the sun shining through his window. He’s wanted to be drunk forever at this point, downing things he’s too young to have and smoking shit that he doesn’t know the name of, but now when he’s seeing it all and hearing the conversations of people his own age, talking loudly over the band that’s playing, he doesn’t feel like this is where he’s supposed to be. Something’s wrong. His chest hurts and he doesn’t feel safe.

 

Michael glances at a giggling Ashton, noticing how much better he’s been doing these past few years, and tries his hardest to leave the older boy be. Then he thinks of himself and wants to slice his arms open. Or pull his hair out. Or both.

 

With shaky hands, he grabs his phone from his pocket and sends a message of  _Can you please pick me up?_ to the first name he sees in his phone without even looking. The younger boy should have known he had texted Calum, when five minutes later he receives a  _When and where?_  that immediately suppresses the sadness in Michael’s stomach. Michael feels safer just knowing that he’s talking to Calum. He always has.

 

Michael strays away from the group, calling out to Ashton and mumbling something about not feeling well, and goes to wait in the parking lot he told Cal to pick him up at. The younger boy can already feel the knot in his chest loosening. He wants out. Out of where, he doesn’t know, but definitely out of here.

 

It’s not a mere twenty minutes until Calum pulls up and Michael could see the concerned look on his face before he even rolls down the window. Even sleep-tossed and messy, the darker-haired boy still looks beautiful, gentle almost. Michael feels like he could pick up Calum’s scent from where he’s standing. It reminds him of the beach, and chocolate, and the slightest hint of cigarettes that Cal manages to sneak every once in a while; _home._

 

“Hey, you okay?” Cal opened the car door, skin gleaming in the street-lights, getting out and shuffling over to his best friend. His arms were eventually wrapped around Michael’s waist and his hair was tickling the older boy’s neck, and Michael so sad that he could cry just from that. Maybe he’s needed a hug for a while.

 

“Yeah. Just wanna get out of here.” He was getting anxious.

 

Calum clapped a hand over his shoulder, squeezing it lightly and Michael’s arm warmed where their skin made contact. “Let’s go home, okay?”

 

Michael had never heard a sentence more freeing than that. Ever since he and Cal rented a house together, he no longer saw home as something so unbearable and boring. He liked that Cal and him lived in the same, small proximity, through years of touring and sleepovers and sharing bunks didn’t necessarily restrain him from that before. The deal was they all needed a break – all needed some time off, from the  _band_ even, but never from each other. So Ash & Luke shared a flat, Michael and Calum shared a flat. They always went off in pairs. It kept each of them close to familiarity without always being up each other’s asses.

 

After a twenty minute car ride and Calum trying to cheer him up by goofily dancing to whatever songs come onto the radio at one in the morning, Michael was almost too tired to lift up his head from leaning on the window.

 

“C’mon, Mike,” Cal spoke so, so softly, “We’re home now. You’re almost inside. You can sleep soon, promise.”

 

Even in his dreamy, out-of-it state, Michael found a special place in his heart for people like Calum (or maybe just for Calum in general). Calum never pushed, never expected Michael to tell him what was wrong or what had happened. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t judge or assume. Michael could’ve texted Calum saying he was about to  _die_  or something and he still would wait until Michael was ready to speak up, till he was comfortable. And right now, Michael thinks it might have to wait until morning.

 

“Babe,” the younger boy’s hands were gentle as they stroked the softness of Michael’s cheekbone. “I know you’re up. Please, come inside for me.” Michael hadn’t heard Calum call him that in a while.

 

In reality, Michael was too emotionally drained to do much of anything. He didn’t know if he wanted to run around their apartment building or crawl into bed alone or crawl into bed with  _Calum._ Michael was a burnt-out fire.

 

He whimpered in response, voice catching in his throat and not moving his body in the slightest bit. Then heard Calum sigh a “You’re lucky I love you”, sad smile evident in his voice. It sounded like a secret. Michael wishes it didn't have to be.

 

He eventually felt the door he was leaning on slowly open. There was no longer cool leather from the car seat on the back of his neck but instead two large hands, warm and calloused; his arms slung over the shoulders of the beautiful boy Michael was in _love_ with. It was always the underlying thing between the two of them – maybe they were both in love and it just didn’t need to be said.

 

They seemed to make it through the front door and into the elevator fine, Michael putting the majority of his weight on Calum. That’s when the younger boy started to look concerned. Michael didn’t look like Michael. He looked empty and dead and he even  _felt_ cold, and he wouldn’t look Calum in the eye.

 

As soon as Calum unlocked the door to their flat, Michael went straight to the bathroom and took a shower. He kept shaking even after when the water went hot; a burning hot shower, so heated that a gray layer of steam floated above his head and the metaphorical cloud he’d felt hanging over him was no longer a figment.

 

He thought about Calum, how things used to be. They fooled around as kids, yeah, but Michael didn’t want to be fooled any longer. Michael was in _love_ with Calum, so effortlessly it scared him. Maybe he’d always been in love, maybe it was always a little too easy. He always smiled at Calum’s features, could never keep his hands from roaming his body. And maybe this was part of Michael’s problem. Michael lived his life from the uncertainty of _maybes._

 

Calum was definitely way too deserving of someone better, someone who didn’t feel like he was sinking every time he was out in public. It sucked. It really sucked, actually, because Michael just wanted Calum not to worry about him, but little did he know that  _worryingaboutMichael_ was probably number one on Calum’s list.

 

It was another minute before Michael heard the bathroom door open, but he didn’t move.

 

Calum’s eyes drift to the frozen figure in the shower, back facing him and water dripping down his back. Michael looked like his soul had been sucked out of his body, Calum thought, and it made his chest ache.

 

Michael heard the shuffling of clothes and felt two arms around his waist.

 

Oh, Calum. This boy kept him breathing. 

 

Michael still doesn’t know how long he stayed there, unmoving. He felt too heavy to move.

 

He turned around to face the dark-haired boy, eyes filling with stupid, stupid tears. Pointless tears. Michael  _had_  nothing to be sad about. He toured the world with his band, got famous, went to parties, was able to spoil his family with anything they've ever wanted. But that little part that was inside of him before he got famous was never dealt with, the dark and brooding part, and maybe it just kept growing and growing until every part of Michael's body ached with it. Every vein in his body was cold with anxiety, leaking out through every part of his system. He wanted to throw up.

 

"I think I'm dying, Cal." And it was so, so soft - so soft that Calum could barely make it out with the sound of the shower head pouring water down their backs. 

 

He was getting tired, getting ready to explode. Michael could see the despair in Calum's eyes, the confusion. It was eating away at every feature on his entire face. He spoke just as quiet. "What?" Guilt pouring through his words. Eyes moving frantic. "Mike, what?"

 

Michael felt like he was moving in slow motion.

 

"I-". He was staring into space. "I feel like I'm drowning." 

 

His eyes were so big and glassy now, hands gone cold around Calum's waist, staring at nothing, just _staring_. Cal could see the shadows of the water drops on the shower door dancing in the boy's eyes, and he realized it was the most life he'd seen in them in too long of a time. 

 

“What?” Calum spoke so quietly. “Mike, what do you mean?” Almost quietly enough to hide the panic in his voice. And then it hit Calum like a train.

 

The tears came from Michael in rivers, rivers that he wanted to drown in. He was trembling, clinging to Calum like the boy was gonna leave him there to shiver and rot. Michael was sobbing and Calum was shaking, skin on skin on skin. Calum's lips on Michael's shoulders, trying to calm him down, Michael's hands gripping Calum's arms with knuckle-white fingers. 

 

"Can't do this anymore." Michael was slipping and it was far away from any kind of reality sense. "I'm so tired."  

 

Calum squeezed him so tight, hoped his broken parts would stick back together, but maybe Calum was always a dreamer. He made a conscience decision right then and there to never let Michael out of his sight, never out of his reach. 

 

He saw all the signs of Michael's depression in the subtle underlying tone to everything Michael said, but he just didn't know how to intercede. Oh god how he  _hated_  himself.

 

They were on the shower floor when Michael started screaming. _Help me, Calum_. Clinging on tighter. Gasping for air. _I think I’m dying._ Echoing hollow off the shower walls. _Sosadsosadsosad._

 

Calum helped him because it was the only thing he could do. Helped him breathe, kissed his head, sobbed with him. Even held Michael's damp skin so close to his own that they weren't even separate bodies anymore. Calum noticed that this was like some kind of deep metaphor he doesn't know how to name because the two of them were within the same soul, the same being. Inseparable and carefully stitched together seam by seam. 

 

He doesn’t know when Michael became so broken. But he always noticed it.

 

“It’s okay”, Calum was crying. “I know. It’s okay.”

 

The water went cold before Michael stopped crying and neither of them minded. They were used to the lack of extensive hot water. They could afford some fancy apartment with a penthouse and a pretty view but they were perfectly fine in their middle-of-the-road, dingy flat. A bed was a bed, whether with deep moans and stolen kisses or sleep, and this was their home. It was where they realized they were in love, and it was also where they didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t want to scare each other away.

 

They were cold and wet and Michael had leaked out every tear that had built up inside him for a long time. Calum's hand was in the boy's hair, gently running his fingers through it, gently shushing him and cupping his face. He was keeping his boy together. This was hurting Calum as much as it was hurting Michael. It was killing him.

 

The younger boy pulled him up, started to guide the both of them out of the shower, but Michael got up slow and careful, clung onto Calum reluctantly almost - so sensitive he was even scaring himself with his own vulnerability. "I'm sorry", he whispered. He shook his head. "I'm so sorry. I love you."

 

Calum shook his head back, sighed and grabbed a towel, roaming his hands to dry off Michael with such ease. And such love. Calum treated Michael like glass.

 

"Oh, Michael," he had whispered. "Please don't say that to me. I love you. You're still my best friend." Kissed his cheek, kissed his forehead. "It's going to be okay. I've got you.  _I love you."_  

 

And then they were out of the bathroom and in their room, (yes,  _their_ room because they needed to be close), wrapped up tightly in the sheets. Michael was so, so still and it made Calum think of things he didn't want to think of, but he ran his hands along Michael's bare skin until he could feel his heartbeat slowing and his breathing getting quieter. Something about the way the blankets lay on top of them made Calum's skin crawl. 

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Michael was half-asleep when the boy said it, but still felt Calum's arms tighten around him. "Why the fuck are you sorry?" Michael had been whispering all night. 

 

"I never noticed. How bad it got again." He swallowed quickly. "I could have tried to help you. Or gotten you help. Or something. I don't know." He shook. "What if I'd lost you?" 

 

Michael rolled over, so close that Calum could feel his breath on his face, could see the tears gathering in his eyes. And then he kissed Calum so softly, as a reminder. A reminder that it wasn't his fault. 

 

Calum stayed awake until the boy next to him was asleep, in which Michael whispered a “You save me everyday, Cal,” before his tired eyes fluttered shut, until his brain gave him a signal, until his own eyelids drooped. Calum still remembers how warm Michael made his lips feel. He wanted to breathe the life back into him. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Michael felt himself open his eyes when the sun was still hidden, and his heart wasn’t pounding out of his chest. It was quiet and his skin was only tingling now because of the warmth of the boy next to him.

 

 

 

There was light from the windows dancing across Calum’s face a few hours later, and the fan they kept running in their room every night was still gently swaying his hair. The birds chirped, the dogs next door barked.

 

And despite Michael’s emptiness, the sun still rose. And the sky still showed the moon, and Calum’s face was inches away from his own. His hands still shook, his chest still ached.

 

But he could breathe. His eyes drifted back closed. 

 

And he was okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> sincerely from the saddest human ever, I bled my soul into this


End file.
